


If You Had to Choose

by dendrite_blues



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 2012 Loki/2023 Tony Stark, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Fix-It, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild angst due to references to canon, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, References to Canon, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Tony Stark's dumb nicknames, We Die Like Men, no stress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 20:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18612037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendrite_blues/pseuds/dendrite_blues
Summary: In order to fix the mess he's in, Tony turns to the only other person who saw it all coming: Prince motherfucking Loki. (full spoiler-containing summary in the description)On haitus until January 2020.





	1. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is a story about 2023 Tony intentionally deviating from the plan in Endgame in order to collect all six stones himself. As a sort of backup plan, just in case one of the others fails. In order to do this, he knows he needs help from someone that touched the stones he didn't--Loki. "Earth 4" Loki, as a href="https://comicsandmemes.com/wp-content/uploads/Avengers-Endgame-Meme-010-movie-alrernate-timelines-chart.jpg">the timeline graph called it. You know, the cheeky one with the Tesseract. 
> 
> This is canon compliant, so Tony does have Morgan in this story, and he has been with Pepper a long time. I'm not interested in angst with this story, so honestly it will probably become Pepper/Tony/Loki by default. I have no idea how I'm going to get there, but I intend for it to be fun, laid back, and heisty with a happy ending where all parties are alive and happy. No broken up marriages or splintered families. If that sounds nice, I'm happy to have you come along.
> 
> (I will say, this Tony is salty. He's not a team player. I apologize if this comes off as character bashing, it's not intended. It's just me giving this Tony a push in the Loki direction.)
> 
> Let's go~~~~!

Blue terrafoil hexagons tilted in a hive-like grid. Every piece of an intricate mechanism poised for use. The mobious strip, the circle of Avengers all decked out in their Christmas best, dead eyed and despicable after five years of grief. Together at last, back to the beginning. One jump each, one day to relive out of a lifetime of regrettable days. One last chance.

He wouldn’t waste it, wouldn’t let himself relax only to be reeled in again. This time there would be no mistakes, no last minute fixes, no improvisation. He'd had his eyes on the goddamn prize for eleven relentless years while everyone else slept cozy in their denial beds, and he was tired. So unbelievably tired. He intended to end it, whatever it took.

 _One last chance_ —chance, not on his shiny iron ass. If he got his way there wouldn't be any luck involved. Their victory would be entirely by design. One jump, six stones melting in his pocket like the M&Ms in Morgan’s overalls. Not reclaimed by the team, but by him. Alone. The only person he could trust.

Whatever it took. _Whoever_ it took.

With trust taken out of the equation the decision was obvious. Only one other person was caught dead center in this whirlpool, dragged down bit by bit with him. Only one other person was there for every damn step.

He would win him over. Had to. Because Tony Stark was a motherfucking hero, and you only got to call yourself a hero if you won.

* * *

The tower was a flashback, and not an all-together pleasant one. 2012, dear god. What a crappy year. His apartment was a statuesque throwback that filled him with equal parts nostalgia and self-hatred. Living in a giant beacon with his name on it, flying around in a tincan and calling himself the privatizer of world peace? The arrogance. Good grief.

Past-him was such an overwhelming embarrassment that he could barely stand to look at the guy, which was probably a good thing because he never noticed how terrible he was at maintaining eye contact before.

The first couple of minutes in the tower, he kept trying to get a good look at himself before the crow's feet and the grey hair set in—only to very nearly catch his own eyes as they flicked randomly and without any discernible warning from point to point.

Steve, the bar, the couch, the window. An eyeroll at Clint’s bad joke and then back to Steve, Natasha’s belt, Hulk’s hairy feet, the crater in the floor. And the pacing, the fussing with any hand-sized object in reach. It was exhausting. Did he really do that? How did anyone manage to talk to him without getting distracted?

And then Steve’s voice in his ear dragged him back to the present.

_Tony, you in position?_

Right, the stones. Loki. His secret detour.

 _Roger,_ he answered, snickering at his own bad pun and ignoring Lang's chatter.

Their past selves weren't in a hurry, bantering and chewing the fat as he watched them hand the scepter directly to Hydra like the naive idiots they were. It was hard to do nothing when history was right there for him to undo, but he resisted. Soon, soon.

The scepter went in the elevator and modern day Rogers executed his part perfectly. Down to the lobby then, to fetch the Tesseract. His golden opportunity.

Lang did his creepy body horror trick and the arc reactor rebooted, an uncomfortable memory not retired long enough not to sting. Cardiac arrest never did become routine, not even when you got a touch of it every couple months like he used to.

Chaos erupted, which meant it was his moment. Showtime.

Pretending to flub the briefcase exchange, he tripped. Dropped the case accidentally-on-purpose, and flipped up the latch so the Tesseract fell out.

Kicking it as subtly as he could into Loki’s direction, he scrambled across the floor in his bulky disguise and got his hand on the glowing cube at the exact moment the trickster god bent over.

Through the visor their eyes met and he winked. Why the hell not? This whole situation was already insane. Loki balked.

“Hey, Frosty, what’s up?” he said, because he couldn’t help himself. “Been a while for me, but I can understand if you’re not super sentimental about the thing that happened five minutes ago.”

It didn’t last long, not nearly long enough for him to fully appreciate the comedic glory, but there was a frigid half-second of absolute confusion. With his free hand he flicked up his mask and gave Loki a clear view.

Two blinks, and then Rock Band finally seemed to catch up.

“What are you waiting for, get us outta here,” he whispered, just in time to here Steve take a punch over the communicator and Ant-Man demand to know what the hell Tony thought he was doing.

The black haired villain wrinkled his nose, and then they were gone. Dissipated in a miasma of dark matter and orbiting electrons.

* * *

They reappeared in a room Tony couldn’t begin to identify. Tan stone, wall scrolls, the faint smell of smoked meat. Asgard. Probably.

He took off his helmet and fluffed his sweaty hair.

Loki finally marshaled his features into quaint indifference a whole five seconds too late.

“So you know what I said about losing?” Tony quipped.

Loki removed the muzzle, which made the whole situation a little bit less awkward.

“Stark,” he said, querying but not quite a question. His fine-boned features bent in the most understated look of intrigue Tony had ever seen. “You’ve aged rather badly, I see."

Having just faced his younger self, he kind of had to agree.

“I prefer to think of myself as a fine vintage,” he cocked his head. “Are you really not gonna react to this?”

“To what? To you presumably bypassing all natural barriers of time and continuity simply to gloat over your victory?”

Tony exhaled through his nose and he bit his lip while he thought of what to say. Nervous tick, never could kick it.

“I’m not here to gloat, actually Istill haven’t won. How’s that for overtime? Are these real?” Tony tugged on the chain between the handcuffs and Loki’s left eye twitched.

Good, now they’re both uncomfortable. Even terrain.

For a blink he got caught on Loki’s baby blues, bright but not enchanted. A striking difference to the unnatural glow of the Mind Stone.

“I have created Earth’s mightiest defense, was that not damaging enough?”

“Not really, no. We may have gotten a little sidetracked...decided to fight each other instead of the aliens. Not really the best idea but, well, it wasn't really our idea come to think of it,” Tony rolled his eyes and took off his jacket, throwing it on a nearby wooden bench. It was a whole lot warmer wherever they were. “The point is...I told you so. I told you there was no version of this where you came out on top—and maybe I didn’t get the details right but, well, I was. Right, that is. One hundred percent, absolutely spot on.”

“You will have to be at least twenty percent more transparent if you want me to follow this incoherent nonsense.”

“Ok, fine, I’ll dumb it down. This whole elaborate plan of yours, the taking over Earth and getting the cube and ruling as an almighty deity, blah, blah, blah...it really, really, really, really, really, _really_ doesn’t go your way.”

“And what am I in your world? A specter? A prisoner?” Loki sat on the bench and kicked his feet out wide, arms crossed over his chest in disbelief. “Oh, let me guess, I am your little man servant bringing you grapes and biscuits on a platter.”

“Dead,” Tony said. No point sugar coating it. It was the best bargaining chip he had. Seemed like a good one—most people weren't keen on dying. But Thor’s brother wasn't most people. Instead of looking disappointed or upset he grinned. The smarter-than-you smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Thor seemed convinced.”

“And you believed him?”

“Oh don’t worry, I heard about your propensity for ‘resurrection,’” Tony punctuated the statement with a pointed pair of air quotes. “This was different.”

The drunken rambling of his once untouchable friend returned to his mind. Sad, in a hitting-too-close to home way. Maybe Loki could help with that, but he kind of doubted it. The man sharing the room didn't seem like the nurturing type, and the stories he'd heard of Thor's youth didn't really contradict that impression.

“I don’t believe a word of this,” Loki scoffed, crossing his arms and slouching against the wall like this was all a big joke. "You want the Tesseract for yourself, nothing more."

“Fine, you want details? He got fat. Your brother got a belly out to here _and the mountains did quake with the force of his belching._ He cried at the drop of a hat. He never shaved. I know what despair looks like, I’ve been there, and his was real–”

“What?” Loki tipped his head, eyes alight.

“What, what?” Tony stared.

“He mourned?”

A point of fascination. A burning need. Of course. Tony could have slapped himself in the face. He had gone about this all wrong.

 _Fanfair, parade floats, a full tilt diva_. He said it himself a lifetime ago in a helicarrier far, far away.

“Inconsolably,” he swore with perhaps too much sincerity. “After his mother, and his dad, and you...total train wreck. Couldn't deal.”

Now they were getting somewhere. Loki’s back had straightened, his lip a thin line.

“Mother?”

“I don’t know the details on that one... but it was you that broke him. Definitely. Died right in front of him, that’s what he said.”

“Who did it? How did it happen? When? You must tell me.” Loki demanded, all in a rush, all at once. A startling surge of intensity that drove him to his feet and made Tony take an instinctive step back. He was beginning to understand Loki’s interpersonal troubles. This all-or-nothing tendency wasn’t especially relaxing to be around.

Loki grinned, like scaring his last hope for survival was a good thing. Steeling himself, he approached the bench and sat down very deliberately at Loki’s side, pausing when the man tensed and shifted to sit as well. Carefully, he sized up the Asgardian and prayed to whoever was listening that he wasn't just projecting, that the history he thought they shared was real.

“I think you know who it is,” Tony said. Enough games, enough messing around. Either Loki would listen to reason or he would have to try again. Nothing to lose but time. “Somewhere in that barrel-o-monkeys brain of yours, you know that you’re never gonna outrun him.”

Loki tipped his head down, and he knew he’d hit the mark. All those years ago the solution was right in front of him, and he never even thought. Not until Nebula, not until he saw the ice melt over weeks of isolation, not until he stared into the absolute night of space and thought back on how he’d gotten there, not until he’d stared into a crackling fire at Pepper’s side and knew, _knew,_  that he couldn’t run from this fight.

It was strange to think that he’d been thinking of this one problem through a million different lenses during a thousand different all-nighters in a hundred different rooms. Disguised as different problems, different threats, different solutions, and yet all wound up like a slinky tangled in its own loops. The Civil War, the Avengers, the invasion, the stones. All one thing plucked apart like atoms in a cylinder, waiting to be dropped and released, reconciled back into a single particle that would detonate and devour and expand into a force of universal annihilation.

And at the beginning of it all, this man _._ A stack of bones and sinew not that different from Tony or any other person, and yet simultaneously _other._ Different. Undefinable. A living god standing on a rain slick step and screaming about the great lie of freedom, about being born to rule when he himself was, at that exact moment, a slave to his own destiny.

Tony swallowed and tilted his head so he could look the wannabe tyrant in the eye.

“You know he’s not gonna leave, and you know he’s not in your head—but at the same time he is, isn’t he? He’s there every night haunting you all the time. You’re not safe, never safe, you could never run far enough. Because he’s out there, looking. Imminent. I know, okay, I know exactly what it's like. So don’t be cute with me, Rudolph, you know who killed you.”

Loki sat like a pillar, like a man made of stone. He swallowed, he breathed, but he didn’t try to make a joke. Behind his own mask-like face Tony’s heart drummed the syncopated beat of fight or flight.

One last chance. One ally nobody ever thought to recruit. The one that brought them all together, but who never dared to look forward because all he saw was a endless loop of no-win scenarios. Just like Tony. Just similar enough to understand. The only other person who saw it coming.

“And you think you can do better?” Loki finally said. A chiseled sound, a voice that could pry up old pain just as easily as it could smooth it over. A blade that cut both ways.

“I know it," Tony said.

“And what makes you think I need you, now that I know this information?”

Tony clicked his tongue, looking down to his shoes in a put-upon kind of reluctance.

“Well, I know a thing or two about time travel which is kind of a big deal. I know where all the stones are, and more importantly _when_. I’m not bad to look at, obviously, and we both share a certain–”

“Verbosity?” Loki drawled.

“Showmanship,” he corrected. “Which I know is pretty important to you. You know, style over substance.”

“Why settle for one when I can have both?” Loki cocked an eyebrow.

“Sure, I like both.” Tony held out his hand. The chains rattled as Loki lifted his wrists to shake, but when he moved to let go the Asgardian grabbed his collar and pulled, dragging him so they were eye to eye.

“If I find that you have mislead me-”

“Easy, Kylo, I’m pretty done with lying teammates,” Tony grunted. “Did it once, wasn’t a good time. Don’t lie to me, and I won’t lie to you.”

Leaning his head back and lowering his eyelids in a long moment of consideration, Loki grimaced.

“Then you have a deal. Although if you are choosing me you must be severely low on options.”

Wiggling out of Loki’s vice grip, Tony laughed darkly and rubbed his perpetually heavy eyes.

“You have no idea, dude, you have no goddamn idea.”


	2. Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Loki work out what comes next, what comes after, and what might come between them if they don't find a way to get along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuup, we're in it for the long haul. All aboard the train to accidental epic town. Toot toot.

"Okay, okay, slow down. Do you know how long it's been since I had to write notes by hand?"

"If you intend to _take notes_ while we are traversing the galaxy then I think I shall go back to where I'm meant to be and call this entire campaign a foregone conclusion."

Tony angled a thousand-yard stare at the slowly circling spheres of the planetary map, each one an incandescent gold with a name and a number and coordinates. Massive, in a word. A so sprawling and teeming with life that there seemed no other word for it but 'big.'

And somewhere in there, at one or many points in time, were unknown iterations of six all-powerful rocks.

"Well excuse me for wanting to keep all these timelines straight," he puffed up his cheeks and blew out his frustration. His earlier assessment of Loki as someone rather hard to get along with was...an understatement.

"I don't know why you are so concerned with what happens when," Loki said with high brows and his gaze downcast to where he was picking at his fingernails. "So long as we get one of each, does that not accomplish our goal?"

"Not if we steal them from _ourselves_. Or the other Avengers. This is a backup plan, alright? I'm not trying to sabotage the team, but I don’t want to leave anything up to chance either. And our original plan already involved," he recounted it in his head, fingers popping up at each new timeline visited.

Loki snickered. "Are you really counting on your fingers? I'm beginning to think Barton overstated your genius–"

"Okay, you know what, screw it," Tony rolled up the parchment— _parchment, seriously—_ and the ink pot. "I'll figure this out on my own and if you still feel like being a nag later, then we can do this Harold and Kumar shit on the way to the stones."

"All I said, and I'm sure you'll find I'm correct, is that with our present skills and abilities we've only access to certain stones. If you can't write a few monosyllabic words without throwing a tantrum, then I see that as a shortcoming of yours, not mine."

"Fine, Snowflake, you take the notes," Tony threw the rolled up parchment at Loki's head but the smarmy bastard just caught it. Between his bum knee and the arm that never quite got better after Afghanistan, those reflexes made him excessively jealous.

Loki glowed with satisfaction at his irritation, a flick of his hand returning the pot of ink to the table.

"Can we get back to planning now, or does the old man need a nap first?” Loki grinned.

“Fifty-three is not old–” Tony grumbled, flopping back into his chair and resting his chin on his propped up hand.

His eyes scanned the room, _Loki's room_ he'd realized once the prince had walked him out of the antechamber where they'd landed and into a lushly decorated living room complete with fur-covered settees, emerald green goat-horn insignias, and a hulking fireplace that cracked without any visible fuel.

"Power and soul," Loki mused, twirling the quill lightly between his fingers so that the feathered ends danced along the line of his chin. "If you can only verify where they will be in two year's time, and we've no means of shortening that time–"

"Yeah, about that," Tony scratched his beard and wondered if he should be trusting Loki with this information. "I oversimplified that a bit. This thing on my hand is for time travel. It's how I got here. Problem is, it only goes back. In order to go forward, I have to go back to my own time and set a new destination using the nexus at the Avenger's compound."

"Which we cannot do, since you've made yourself a turncoat," Loki wiggled his head with obvious glee.

"You don't have to make it sound so Robin Hood–"

"No, but this is telling. I like this," Loki leaned forward and pointed the quill at Tony like one of his little daggers. "Ten years in the wind, your comrades returned, your hope restored, and yet you betray them to collaborate with your once and rightful ruler?"

" _Ruler_ is putting it a bit strong–"

"What sort of man comes so close to redemption only to turn his back and pursue his own whims?" Loki whispered, eyes bright, an unkind implication communicated neatly without a word being said of it.

Working his jaw around the taunt he would prefer to throw, he instead fixated his attention on the objective. Winning, the stones, his family safe and sound.

"The sort of man that hates surprises. If I can't rely on anyone, then I might as well work with someone who I can trust to be untrustworthy. I like to keep things predictable."

The swirling of the feather paused, suspended in the air like an unspoken promise. Sitting up from his slouch Tony laced his fingers and accepted the flat inspection of Loki's suspicious eyes. This impromptu interrogation wasn't about him, not really. It was about the Avengers, about how he’d tricked them to achieve his own goal. How he could easily to the same to Loki.

Ten years of what-ifs and compulsively reviewed security footage had rendered the Rightful King of Asgard's speeches a case study in projection. When Loki wanted answers he issued insults rather than questions. Most people probably wouldn't notice, wouldn't follow the double talk or see through the subterfuge, but Tony wasn't most people.

"I have a daughter," he said, not expecting the pang of separation to hit him so hard."Morgan. Four years old. She loves popsicles and camping and...and _narwhals,_ for some reason,” on Loki’s incomprehension, he added, “Aquatic mammals. Kinda like whales with horns."

Loki lowered the quill.

"What I mean to say is, I'm not okay with a one in fourteen million chance of winning. I'm not okay with risk. Yes, I'm being cagey. Yes, I'm giving you every reason to think that I'm a Machiavellian psycho who will toss you aside once I've gotten what I want. And, yes, _I'm going to take fucking notes._ But it's not because I _want_ to betray anyone. It's not because I'm a bastard that gets off on fucking with people.

It's because I can't afford to lose. I have too damn much on the line to put anything, _anything,_ up to chance. I have a family and they're depending on me, okay? They need me. And any outcome where I don't get to go home to them, where I don't get to see my little girl grow up? That's a hollow victory."

Loki's mouth had parted slightly, the accusation in his eyes transfigured into unconcealed surprise.

Pursing his lips, the trickster dipped his quill  in the pot and tapped the tip on the blotter.

He wrote, in precise and measured strokes:

_Space (Tesseract) - in possession_

_Mind - New York, 2012_

_Time - New York, 2012 (?)_

_Reality (aether) - Jane Foster, 2013_

_Soul - Vormir, 2018_

_Power - Morag, 2014_

"I cannot claim to have such noble motivations, nor do I have an overly reassuring history of loyalty," Loki murmured as he wrote. The hair on Tony's neck pricked up, his heart unsteady as he realized how vulnerable he had made himself, and to a man so known for exploiting weakness.

"But?" he prompted.

"But," Loki's shoulders lowered as he took a steadying breath and refreshed his ink. "I have recently been burned rather badly by my propensity for espionage."

"And?"

Loki huffed, annoyed at being rushed to the point. "And given my current streak of losing I would very much welcome a foregone conclusion."

"Good," Tony slouched, "Because I didn't really make a Plan B for if you said no."

The god redirected his gaze in a baffled flick.

"Yeah, yeah," he waved him off with a rueful smirk. "Pot meet kettle, I know, but for the record, as someone who wants to walk out of this in one piece, if I had no choice but to double cross someone, you would be the bottom of the list. I've heard some stories, and can I just say—savage."

"A wise choice," Loki said dryly. Despite a visible effort to be stoic, his tone was obviously pleased, his arm buoyant as he dotted the "i" in "reality" with a flourish. It now included a diagram of known time distortions as well. With Loki, it seemed that flattery would always be a safe bet.

"And I didn't even have to write it myself."

"Indeed, witness my shame. A king turned scribe."

"How the mighty have fallen," Tony chuckled, finding as much to his own surprise as anyone's that he was enjoying the back and forth.

"More to the point," Loki shifted his weight and set the quill on the parchment, perfectly horizontal. Meticulous. "Once I was successfully transported to Midgard it was Thanos' intention to return to the Nova Corps in search of the power stone. If your information is accurate and the soul stone has been entombed on Vormir, then it will also be within a day's journey of the Titan and his children. We would be fools to venture there before we possess more power ourselves."

"Agreed," Tony sighed. That was new information. Nebula had not been especially forthcoming during their planning, providing only the scantest of information in the most acerbic ways possible, but he hadn't thought she would leave out something so vital.

Romanov, Barton—he knew they were liars. It was in their job description. Likewise Rogers had shown his true colors in what could only be described as a blatant and very public kiss with a fist. But he and Nebula? They'd almost died together.

Twenty-one days in the black, twenty-nine hours without food or power, twenty-two minutes he'd held her hand and listened to her talk about calling a warlord "father" and repaid each story with his own. He thought they were of one mind when it came to sharing information.

Across the table, a different dictator's scapegoat cleared his throat and continued.

"Hence, I propose we seek the Time Stone first. Should we fail at any other endeavor with it in our possession, we will be able to undo the misstep and try again."

"Logical," Tony agreed, "But barring that, I was thinking the Mind Stone. Figured you might know better than me where it came from."

At this, Loki tensed. "Could we not simply take it from Rogers?"

"No, we covered that already—back up plan, remember? It doesn't work if we take the same ones the Avengers are after."

"So you need to acquire it earlier?" Loki's face clouded.

"Ideally. How'd you get it? Party favor from Mr. T?"

Loki stood and ran his fingers through his hair. In the flickering light of the fire and torches, his face looked near skeletal, mottled under the eyes and gaunt, the dark locks of his hair separated and filthy.

Qualities which Tony previously hadn't noticed, or perhaps that he had noticed but hadn’t particularly cared about. Now that they were allies, their fates intertwined, these minor defects swelled into big, insuppressible warning signs.

Loki paced, hands firm at his side except when he would lift one to anxiously fix some aspect of his less-than-stellar appearance.

"On second thought–" Tony moved to deflect.

The Asgardian whipped around, the picture of offended indignation.

"Before it was given to me I was not in a state to take notes," he admitted.  "However, it was in the past which makes it accessible by your device, and you are correct that I could reprise my role in that particular exchange. I did not look...especially different."

So, like hot roadkill. Yikes.

"Then why do I get the sense that you would rather thumb wrestle the Hulk?"

"Would you be overly giddy to return to Raza's cave?"

The unexpected mention jolted him, and his discomfort made Loki smile.

"I was not of a clear mind once the scepter was in my hands. Had I known the full scope of its power, I would have chosen death instead."

"O—kay,” Tony sputtered, hoping despite his humorless tone that Loki’s words were just a turn of phrase. “Time stone it is, then.”

When the big guy made no further comments, his stomach sank and he slapped the table in an awkward one-one-two before beating a hasty retreat to the antechamber where he’d left his coat.

The Tesseract lay on the bench as well, a wonder of basic geometry and inscrutable cosmic forces. Beautiful, enchanting. Not in spite of the danger it posed, but _because_ of it. Because of the impossibilities it made real. A warm light for all humanity, a tempest in a teapot.

One of six.

Loki picked it up and Tony set his hand on top, the glow so bright it turned both their hands white. The near instant lurch of corporeal matter into sudden non-existence.

Then, all at once—light, sound, pandemonium.

Bicycle bells ringing and people shouting. A shredded newspaper rustling against a dry wood door with the paint peeling off. Cars crunched like balled up foil on the sidewalk and the oppressive smell of death and diesel circling like a noxious cloud.

Behind them, bodies. Chitauri limp and contorted in death, powerless to stop the citizens plundering their weapons and blood-slicked armor.

In front of them, a house number.

177 Bleecker Street, Manhattan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Very excited to show you the adventures in store. :3
> 
> Kudos are loved, comments are treasured. <3


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